


Out Of Mind

by Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)



Series: Ellipse [4]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Bobo wears a suit, Gen, Mental Institutions, Redemption, Uneasy Allies, enemies to uneasy allies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 06:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14050920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel
Summary: Wynonna isn't really sure how she got here or how long it's been or why nobody has come for her. (Another spell maybe? Have they forgotten her again?)She just knows he's the first familiar face she sees





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> partially inspired by this picture, because... come on  
> 

Wynonna didn't know how she'd gotten here, or how long ago that was. Just that it was probably not a nightmare—her nightmares about being in a mental institution usually involved being 12 years old again, not her adult self. And a nightmare would probably have featured familiar faces. And electroshock. Also, she'd tried really hard to wake up, but that attempt had only brought her into this padded cell. In a fucking straightjacket.

At least, she thought so, but she was aware that she was under the influence of some fairly serious drugs, that time wasn't passing right, that there were important things she kept forgetting. Somebody had to be missing her, right? There were people... she was sure of it. Waverly?

She'd thought maybe she was somewhere in Europe, gone off the rails far from anybody who'd even notice she was gone, but there was another face besides her sister's. A handsome man, dark skin and.. gold eyes? giving her such a warm, intent look—no, that was _Dolls_ , was hunting Revenants and sharing takeout dinners, that was a face that belonged in Purgatory. She couldn't be in Europe. Probably.

 _Dolls._ Why hadn't he come for her?

The next time a doctor talked to her she'd tried to explain that this had to be some alternate reality where she didn't exist, and nobody was coming for her. In hindsight that hadn't exactly helped, but her ability to contain her inner monologue wasn't doing so well.

She couldn't retrace how this had started, how she'd gone from being with those people she remembered to here in this place. It just _was_ , this white, padded room, the institution food, the straight jacket, the hard-handed orderlies and nurses who came in at regular intervals to hold her still and make her swallow pills or, if she refused or tried to hide them under her tongue, to inject her.

 

Voices approached outside. Wynonna dug her shoulders deeper into the padding of the corner, eyes cast down.

She was painfully aware that she was cowering like some small timid animal, huddled in the corner, hiding behind her hair, unable to look the nurse in the eye. She'd already learned that the medication would happen no matter what she said, whether she cooperated or not.

When the nurse's feet came into view she blinked. Not the kind of shoes she'd come to expect. These were neatly polished black loafers, the legs clad in black suit trousers.

"Dolls..." she breathed, a rush of hope that they'd found her, that they _knew_ her, that they'd finally come to get her. She didn't remember if she'd been given the chance to contact anybody. She didn't much remember anything of the past week or so.

She heard a chuckle that was definitely not Dolls, and her visitor crouched in front of her. After a moment she risked a glance, and—

Sharp features, odd coloured beard, ice blue eyes.

"...y _ou?_ "

"Mmm. Want to get outta here?"

Bobo del Rey saying that to her would have been alarming in any context, but here, looking startlingly normal with his hair combed back and wearing a neat business suit, shirt open at the collar... She wasn't sure if she was hallucinating, but it seemed the more plausible option. He was wearing _glasses_ , for fuck's sake.

"Suuure," she slurred, aiming for sarcasm and aware she was missing her mark. "Let's do that. Go with the guy who wants me dead."

"Oh Wynonna girl, if that's what you think, you have fundamentally misunderstood my goals in this entire cursed situation," he chuckled. "Look, ye don't have to come. I told them I'm your uncle. You scream that you don't know me, they won't let me take you."

She stared up at him, trying to work her sluggish mind through whatever the fuck was going on here. Was she hallucinating? Was Bobo Del Rey really here, offering to get her out? He couldn't be trusted... so why was part of her so relieved to see his face? Was it that after however long in this hellhole of bad memories and rough orderlies and fake—concerned doctors and worrying nobody remembered her, _any_ familiar face was a welcome sight, even his?

She slowly reached out with her foot, cautious, and touched his ankle with her toes. Half expected to meet no resistance at all, and took a startled breath when he was solid. He made an amused sound at her reaction, and she glanced at his face. More trickster demon than friendly face, but at least not a hallucination.

She was embarrassed to hear herself sniffle, suddenly on the edge of tears. Fuck it, she needed to be out of here. Whatever his plan with her would be, no matter where he took her, once she was no longer longed in a padded room while forcibly given drugs she would have more options.

And it was probably the drugs, but she might really believe that he didn't want her dead.

She nodded at him, and he waited a beat, seeming to make sure she was sure, then nodded in acceptance.

"I'll be back."

"Hasta la vista," she mumbled, rubbing her face against her knee, trying to drive out the fog of the shit they'd been pumping into her.

" _There_ she is," he grinned as he got up.

 

It was hard to keep track of time here, so she had no idea how long she'd been waiting, hoping that he really was coming back. That it hadn't been some kind of hallucination after all. God, how fucked up were things when she was hoping that Bobo Del Rey would come back for her?

Maybe she hazed out for a while, but the next thing she knew there were people in her cell, the same hated orderlies who came in multiple times a day to pin her down so a nurse could shoot crap into her veins. Wynonna braced herself to fight, because if she was getting out of here, if she was going to be around Bobo, she'd need as much of her awareness as she could scrape together. The last dose was beginning to wear off, the last thing she needed was a new dosis of sedatives.

"No, don't touch her, I'll do it," she heard him, low and brooking no resistance. The voice that said that his amusement with a situation had run out. The orderlies backed off and Bobo crouched down next to her, not blocking her view of the room. When he'd unbuckled the straightjacket he held on to the sleeves so she could yank her arms out of them. He easily pulled her to her feet, keeping a hand under her arm as she reeled.

The dizziness wouldn't fade and her knees were insistent that being upright was not on the menu, so she hooked a hand over the top of his shoulder, allowing him to put his arm around her. She reluctantly leaned into his side as he lead her out of the room and then through the hallway. When somebody opened the first of the outer doors for them, she became aware that she was in a thin white scrub top and pants, nothing on her feet but socks.

It was early autumn, before the first snow but definitely cold after sunset.

"T-tell me you're n-not on a bike," she ground out, trying to look around the dimly lit parking lot while keeping her cold feet moving forward. Her head swam at just being upright. Multitasking was hard.

He huffed an amused breath and lead her to a nondescript sedan, a rental car judging by the neat interior. It was hard to believe something so aggressively beige could possibly be owned by Bobo del Rey. She curled up in the passenger seat, her head feeling light and hot and weird, her eyes burning again with unshed tears. He shut the door for her. Relief, fear, drugs, whatever—she refused to show him that kind of weakness, and pressed her forehead against her drawn-up knees, hiding her face.

He rummaged around in the trunk before he got in, tossed his ridiculous coat at her. She wanted to huff and dump it into the footwell, but the car was cold and her thin scrubs weren't doing shit for her right now, so she reluctantly pulled it around herself, folding it around her feet and curling up against the passenger door. It smelled of smoke, more fire than cigarette, but not as strongly as she'd imagined.

The dashboard clock said it was almost eleven in the evening.

 

She snuck the occasional glance as he drove them out of the city and onto the road toward Purgatory, disoriented by how unlike himself he looked. The hair didn't fit, and he hadn't taken off his rings, but the rest of him looked almost respectable. She suddenly realised why it was familiar—in his suit he looked more like Robert Svane than he looked like Bobo del Rey.

"I don't understand," she finally mumbled, sluggish but feeling warmer and less disoriented than before. It was past midnight. "Why'd you..."

He glanced at her, but said nothing.

"Like it or not," he said after what felt like a long time, his eyes on the dark road ahead, face only lit by the glow of the dashboard, "we're going to need all players on the board if we're to stand a chance against Clootie. Can't have you sittin' it out."

She vaguely noted the word 'we,' the way he seemed to align himself with her or at least against Clootie, but didn't know what to do with that right now. It couldn't be denied that she was a major player in the drama they were heading toward with the demon Bulshar. The Earp heir and the Earp gun—

" _Peacemaker,_ " she whispered in horror. "I-it was with me, they must have—I don't know—"

He held up a hand to stop her, and she almost snarled, because what good would she be without the gun? If they stood any chance—

After some rummaging behind the driver seat he brought out a paper bag. In it she found an evidence bag with—

"Holy _shit_. How'd you... what the fuck, dude?"

"Cop who called me about a woman screaming about demons," he shrugged, like that explained everything. Like that explained how he'd gotten back her weapon from the police system or managed to get her out of the mental institution with every appearance of legality.

She ripped open the bag and cradled peacemaker in her lap, unspeakably relieved.

"You... have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, don't you?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "What, you think that all I've done for the past 90 years is sit in front of my trailer and smoke?" He made a wiggly-fingers gesture, and his face took on a much more familiar shark-like grin.

It should have felt threatening, she thought while he turned his attention back to the road. A boast about what kind of influence he could exert, because it wasn't just Revenants. She should probably get the team to have a good dig into what kind of business Bobo was involved with, because she remembered he'd had enough money to buy Shorty's outright and enough smarts to use a lawyer to do it completely above the board.

She just felt strangely unable to muster any concern right now. She felt _safe_. Had to be the medication they'd had her on.

The other contents of the paper bag were a bag of jerky and a bottle of water, and once she'd eaten and drank something, she allowed the strange quiet of the moment to calm her, the low sounds of the moving car, her body still working through the last of the drugs. She tilted her head against the window and stopped fighting sleep.

 

"Wynonna. Wy _nonna_."

She dragged open her eyes to find Bobo looking at her from the drivers seat, looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite place. The car had stopped, and she stared at him, confused at why he'd woken her. Then he nodded at the window behind her, and she squinted into the darkness. The first glimpse of pre-dawn was beginning to show on the horizon, and there was a light on—a porch light. _Oh._ The homestead. He couldn't cross the boundary, but he'd brought her as close to home as he could.

She saw multiple cars by the house. Dolls, Doc's, Nicole's cruiser - they were all there, and while she watched, she saw lights go on in the house. Somebody was apparently awake and had taken note of the arriving car.

"Go," Bobo said with a touch of urgency, and she nodded, opening the cardoor and getting out. He clearly wasn't keen to wait around if anybody wanted to take a shot at him. Fair enough.

"Thanks," she mumbled belatedly, just before slamming the door, and stood there still slightly dazed as she watched him pull out and drive off into the darkness. None of this felt real. Then she became aware of how her socked feet were rapidly getting cold again. Coat pulled closely around herself and Peacemaker safely in her hand, she walked toward the house.


	2. aftermath

"Oh, thank God."

Dolls opened the front door before Wynonna was up the porch steps, and less than a second later she was swept up in his arms, could press her face into his chest and ride the wave of sheer relief. She was here, she was home, she was _remembered_.

She hugged him back hard, and a sob shook loose with the realisation that she really hadn't been sure, that part of her had been considering what to do if she found no recognition here. What she would do if the only person who knew her was Bobo del Rey. If she'd fight for her own existence, try to break the spell, or if she'd just... fade away.

But the way Xavier was murmuring her name into her hair left no doubt that she had been both remembered and missed, and something eased in her chest.

"Come inside, c'mon," he said after what felt like long moments.

"Yeah, kinda getting cold feet here, dude," she managed, and he looked down, seemed to take her in for the first time. Grubby socks, thin white scrubs. Enormous and unmistakable fur coat.

"Oh, I am going to shoot that bastard  _so_ many times he's going to  _wish_ you'd send him to hell," his voice dropped to a low growl.

"No, no you're not," she managed, as firm as she could while still feeling fuzzy around the edges. "Don't know how I got into the shit, but he got me out of it, so nobody's getting sh—" she cracked a yawn, "—shot." I'm getting warm and dry feet, and then sleep."

"Right," he shook himself a little, refocusing. "Of course."

She left the fur coat on a hook on the porch.

Xavier steered her to a kitchen chair and kneeled in front of her with a towel, taking off the grubby socks and drying her feet, then kept his hands cupped around them until they were dry and warm. She was vaguely aware that he was burning to ask her questions, to know what happened. She knew it would be a long conversation though, and she really didn't feel up to it right now.

"Do you need to eat?"

She hummed a 'no' and smiled when he picked her up rather than let her walk to her bedroom on bare feet. He stopped a moment, giving up the pretense of carrying her for any reason than just to hold her, and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his neck.

"I've been so  _fucking_ worried," he whispered. "God. You don't even know."

"I have  _some_ idea," she murmured. "I'm here. I'm okay. Let's sleep."

She'd barely crawled under the covers before she was out like a light.

 

* * *

 

The day started with loud voices coming from the kitchen. Wynonna groped around for her phone, waking up fully when she realised it wasn't there. It took some confused frowning before she could figure out why she didn't have it, and why it was so late, and why she was wearing thin white scrubs.

A mental hospital, way more drugs than had been in any way fun, time seemingly without beginning or end, a straightjacket, a fur coat?

...Bobo Del Rey in a suit...?

" _What?_ " she said out loud in the shower, frowning. That couldn't be right. 

Her phone was probably gone forever, and she spared a brief mournful thought for her Bubble Shooter score.

By the time she was dressed and ready to face the others, it was past noon. A delicious smell was coming from the oven.

"Brownies for breakfaaaaast," Wynonna announced as she made her way into the kitchen. Xavier was working at the kitchen table, files spread out in front of him, glasses on his nose.

He gave her that warm smile that made her stomach trip a little every time it was directed at her, and she bent down to kiss him.

"Hello Mr. Sexy Glasses Man."

His broad hand slid up her cheek and curled around her neck, lightly holding her so he could lengthen the kiss. When it came to an end he grinned up at her and said the three little words she'd been longing to hear:

"There's fresh coffee."

"You are my favourite."

Waverly came storming down the stairs to throw herself into Wynonna's arms, followed by Nicole with a more restrained hug.

"You slept so long, I was worried you'd never wake up," Waverly confessed, her tone betraying that she'd been worried about a lot more than that.

"I was up most of the night..." Wynonna said, trailing off a little because.. sort of, maybe? She'd been in a car, but she didn't remember much of the drive, she must have slept through most of it.

Doc was called inside from where he'd apparently been working off steam by chopping wood, and they all settled around the table, brownies getting served before they had the chance to fully cool.

"So," Doc said. "Would you tell us what happened? 'Cause we have been searching for two days and suddenly—"

"I can tell you where I was, and how I got back, but I'm still not sure how I got there?" Wynonna said.

She explained what she remembered - the mental hospital, reality an unsure thing. Trying to wake up from the nightmare.

"It was a really bad trip. They probably thought I'd had a psychotic break—they gave me a lot of drugs. I think I spent a lot of time thinking that I was in a reality where I didn't exist, and that's why nobody came for me. But like.. it's all super fuzzy."

She saw the tears in her sister's eyes, the way Xavier and Doc both clenched their jaws, and belatedly realised that could be taken as accusatory.

"I'm sorry, I know you guys have been worried and looking, I didn't mean—"

"It's okay. We'll explain our side of it in a minute," Dolls said gently.

"How did you get back?" Nicole asked. "Dolls said you were dropped off at the gate?"

Wynonna grimaced, because it hadn't gotten any less weird in daylight.

"Bobo. He got me out of the—" she handwaved, "and drove me here."

The reaction to that was about as loud and incredulous as she'd expected.

"Look, I'm still puzzling over it too. He didn't kidnap me, they discharged me into his care, I think. Let me walk out with him, anyway. He was in a suit and a rental car, a beige sedan."

"Doesn't sound like you had much of a choice," Doc said.

"He said that if I didn't want to come, they wouldn't have let me go with him."

"Why did you?"

"It's—he was—" she rubbed her face with both hands, unsure if what she was feeling was embarrassment. "Is it weird that I was relieved to see him? He was a familiar face and I'd been so worried that I'd, like... stopped existing."  _I wasn't sure you would come_ , she didn't say. "And I thought that getting out of there and no longer getting drugged would at least... "

"Be progress?" Xavier guessed.

"Yeah. Plus, I figured that if he'd wanted me dead, he'd already had better opportunities for less effort."

"He just picked you up and drove you straight here?" Nicole said.

"Yeah. Gave me back Peacemaker, I think he got it from evidence? I don't know about straight here, I slept most of the way, but the timing sorta works."

"OK. You have no idea how you got into the mental hospital?"

"I don't even know how I left here. Was I on my bike? That's like... the best I can do."

"You needed a break, we all did," Waverly said tearfully. "You left on your motorbike, said you'd be gone for a week or so. To not worry if we couldn't reach you."

Shit, that must mean the bike was gone. She tried to tell herself it didn't matter, forcibly focusing on what her friends were saying.

"You said you were goin' outside of the Ghost River Triangle to meet up with some friends," Doc added.

"You weren't answering texts, but we figured you were just out of cell tower range at first. Two days ago I got worried and tried to call, and then your phone was—" Waverly gestured in the air, presumably meaning 'dead'.

Wynonna listened intently, trying to dig any of this up from her memory. It really didn't ring a bell.

Xavier picked up the explanation. "I—we, had a gut feeling and started trying to trace your path, and by next morning we knew that there's been Banditos seen in the area where we thought you'd gone," he said in an even tone. The kind of tone she used to think meant he was an emotionless drone, when she'd first started working with him. Now she knew that was how he reported on situations, a way to keep it a little distant so he could talk about it. "Nicole and I drove up there as soon as we knew—the day before yesterday—and tracked them down—"

Wynonna's eyes widened at that. It was hard to picture how that had gone.

"—knew we had the right bunch when they had your motorbike."  
"What?!"

"It took some doing to get them to talk to us," Nicole admitted wryly. "They finally admitted that yeah, they'd seen you. According to them you'd met up with them the day after you left here, camped out with them that night. They claim you drank beer and smoked weed, the same weed they all smoked, and that at some point you'd gotten agitated and confused, drew your gun on somebody, and then walked away into the desert."

"That... sounds like me, maybe, except for the part where beer and weed made me act that way?" Wynonna said, shrugging awkwardly, very aware of Waverly's eyes on her. "Especially since I've never blacked out or anything like that. Couple of days memory loss seems unlikely on just beer and weed."

"Like Nicole said, we only have what they  _claimed_ happened," Xavier said gently. "They say they spent time looking for you that night, and again in the morning, and that they hung on to your stuff and your bike just in case you'd find your way back to them." His tone suggested he didn't think much of that claim, but hadn't been able to dispute it. "Don't worry, we reclaimed your bike, it's in the barn." 

"Okay," Wynonna said, uneasy. It was really unsettling to have no idea if any of this was what had actually happened. She had friends among the Banditos, but that didn't make all of them trustworthy.

"We," Doc indicated himself and Waverly, "drove out there yesterday morning to join Dolls and Deputy Haught in the search," he said after a long moment, when it became clear Wynonna had nothing more to say. "The local Sheriffs department brought out a bloodhound, to no avail. We hoped you had been picked up by a passing car, so we paired off and went to the nearest towns to ask if anybody had seen you or knew anything."

"Didn't get us anything, so we came back here late last night, trying to figure out if we could arrange a chopper search," Waverly said softly.

_To find her body_ , Wynonna finally realised. A week in the desert with nothing but the clothes on her back—they wouldn't have had much hope of finding her alive. She got up to give Waverly a tight hug. 

"You'd gone south-east from here, and it's at least a four hour drive to the Big City from where we were looking for you," Xavier said, when she was back in her own chair. "We would have widened our search pattern and method and gotten to you in another day or so," he said, expression suggesting it would have been more 'or so' than a day, "but I'm really glad that wasn't needed."

"That makes sense," Wynonna nodded, mollified about how long it had taken. Their approach had made perfect sense, not accounting for how.. well, she figured a passing car had indeed picked her up, just for some reason hadn't dropped her off until the Big City.

"Perhaps, but what does not make sense is Bobo Del Rey going to get her," Doc grumbled. "What did he mean by that? If he knew where she was and for some reason wanted her found, why not call it in to the Sheriffs department?"

They were all silent for a few long moments.

"Would you have believed him?" Wynonna asked curiously.

"Enough to make some phonecalls in that direction, at least," Nicole said.

"Maybe he thought you'd blame him for making me disappear in the first place?"

"I have not decided that I do not," Doc said.

"Wait, you think he deliberately got me in that place only to get me out again?" Wynonna frowned. "Why?"

"To get you alone?" Waverly suggested. "To make you feel grateful? To make you  _trust_ him?"

"Did you talk at all in the car?" Xavier asked, before Doc could gallop away with the subject of Bobo's suspected motives.

"It's kinda fuzzy. I think I asked him why he'd come to get me. He said something about needing all the players on the board." There had been something about the way he'd phrased it, something that had drawn her attention, but her memory had helpfully not retained it.

"You see?" Doc said triumphantly. "Bobo Del Rey always has an angle."

Wynonna glanced at Xavier. The situation hadn't seemed like that to her, but it was hard to argue that Waverly and Doc's explanation of Bobo's actions was more in line with his past behaviour.

Maybe her judgement when it came to Bobo  _had_ been compromised. It had been hard to see him the same way since her vision. Hard not to search for the traces of the man he'd been, and wondering what had brought him from there to here. Was she more likely to explain his motives in a positive way now than she had been before the vision? Probably. Was that justified? She supposed time would tell. 

 

* * *

 

"You don't think he has an angle?" Xavier asked her later, curled up warmly against her back.

"Oh no, I'm sure he does," Wynonna said softly. "I'm just beginning to wonder if it's not as aligned with Bulshar as we think."

"He doesn't  _seem_ to be acting in Bulshar's interest," Xavier agreed thoughtfully. 

"I think I said something about him wanting me dead, and he told me I had... what was it... 'fundamentally misunderstood his goals'."

"Well, I think we're all agreed that he wants you alive. We're just not sure why, and some of us are more... charitable in our assertions than others."

"Bobo just wants the curse to end. Pretty much anything we've seen him do has been in service of that goal, even if we didn't see it at the time. He might have hoped Bulshar would make that happen and now he's beginning to lose hope?" Wynonna mused.

"Hmm. It  _has_ been weeks. And I don't think—" he yawned hugely, "—that ending the curse was ever in the demon's plans."

She hummed in agreement, still puzzling over the situation. She couldn't and wouldn't risk anything on this theory, but if he was thinking about moving against Bulshar, she didn't want to discourage it.

* * *

 

The next day she dug up an old lighter that had 'thanks' printed on one side and 'asshole' on the other, and put it in the pocket of his coat. She scrounged up a cardboard box from somewhere to put the coat into and took it into town with her. She left it at the post office addressed to him at the trailer park.

He could take that however he wanted.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you think in the comments  
> Or on my [tumblr](http://primarybufferpanel.tumblr.com), that works too


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